


Late Nights, Hailstorms and Henleys

by firstdegreefangirl



Series: Chenford Week 2020 [4]
Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Chenford Week 2020, Couch Cuddles, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Grey knows everything, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing Clothes, Thunderstorms, Tim is a gentleman, and he supports his officers, and makes cookies, but not The Third Date, he respects boundaries, they're sorta kinda dating but only barely, they've got a good thing going though, tim and Lucy get their third date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: "Let me give you a ride back to my place."After a late-night stakeout in the rain, Tim takes his sort-of girlfriend home for the night.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Series: Chenford Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827838
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95
Collections: Chenford Week 2020





	Late Nights, Hailstorms and Henleys

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that time a hailstorm kept me up half the night, and the next day I wore a Henley and told Daisy about it. From there, this was born.

“Miss riding with me, Boot?” 

Tim pulls the unmarked Corolla up alongside the curb and slides the gearshift into park, then looks across the console at Lucy. She’s been a P-2 for close to three months now, riding on her own or with Jackson most shifts. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other, at roll call, lunches, the bar after shift, just like he sees the other rookies around. 

But it’s different with Lucy. There’s more, with Lucy. He sees her in all of the expected places, but also in the handful of nights he’d shown up on her doorstep with a six-pack of pre-mixed margaritas, listened to her talk about whatever was on her mind, offered advice when she asked, but mostly been a comforting ear, someone she could lean on. 

He’d promised her that she could always come to him with questions about the job. “Once a rookie, always a rookie,” he’d told her at the end of their last shift together. 

Six weeks later, he’d taken it all back. She's not his rookie anymore, he doesn’t _want_ her to be his rookie anymore. 

Because if she’s his rookie, she can’t be his girlfriend. She’s not his girlfriend, not yet, but he’s bought her a couple of dinners, and they both know it’s just a matter of time. 

It had been clear in the way she’d looked right at him when Grey paired them up tonight, for the after-hours stakeout they’re on. 

“It’s going to be a long night,” he’d explained and pointed at the surveillance points on the aerial map in front of them. “I need teams that I know will work well together, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a pair of partners like the two of you.” 

Tim could swear that Grey had winked at him, but he’s pretty sure he had to be imagining that part. 

If Grey knew, if he even suspected, there’s no way he’d have put him and Lucy in the same vehicle. 

There’s no way he’d be staring at her across the console, watching the streetlights cast a golden glow around her face. It’s the only light they can see tonight; even the few stars he can usually pick out if he squints are gone, hidden by the thick clouds that have been shrouding LA all day. 

“I dunno, Jackson has never once picked a fight with anyone on my behalf.” But she looks back at him and smiles. “then again, he’s way less fun to look at all day.” 

“You’d better be looking at the drop house tonight. I look like I always do.” He hears the grumbling in his tone, but feels the way his chest tightens a little bit at how easily Lucy compliments him, how freely she shares her affections with the world. 

Before she can say anything else, though, the sky in front of them brightens suddenly as a bolt of lightning traces a fast line down to the horizon. A second later, thunder rumbles hard enough to shake the car and the sky opens up. Rain beats down, hard enough to echo in the tight interior of the sedan, and Tim turns the key in the ignition just far enough that he can activate the windshield wipers, clearing a field of view for them to keep an eye on the front door at the end of the block without turning on the headlights. 

Neither of them speak, too focused on watching the house, looking for the green Camaro that’s supposed to pull up in the driveway sometime tonight. 

Really, their guy is making this easy. A neon green sports car will stick out on any street, be easier for them to tail in a chase, all of it. Crimes are best committed in a Prius: they’re all over in LA, and the engine noise is practically nonexistent. 

But he’s not about to complain, not when he gets to spend his evening making time and a half to sit next to Lucy. Even if they’re not saying much, he has to admit how much he enjoys just having her presence around him. 

After an hour or so, she starts to yawn. At first, they’re these tiny little breaths that wrinkle her nose adorably. But before long, her jaw is popping audibly, and Tim is turning in his seat to look at her dead-on. 

“You never learned to nap before these things, did you?” 

“Did so.” She pouts and sinks lower in her seat, slouching far enough that Tim has to tip his chin down to look at her. “It’s not my fault that rain sounds make me sleepy. Think they’ll call us off? We’ve been out here almost three hours already.” 

“You know criminals love bad weather.” He pushes one corner of his mouth up in a smile, privately agreeing with Lucy’s desire to get off of the streets and take shelter from the storm. “They think it makes us lazy. C’mon,” he reaches across the shop to nudge her shoulder. “I’ve got 10 bucks that says the drop is still on. Put it toward drinks next time we go out?” 

“Yeah, OK,” she rolls her eyes. “But only because I know you’ll get my tab anyway.” 

The silence rolls back over them, save for the sound of rain beating against the windshield. Before long, it’s pouring hard enough to freeze on the way down, turning the water droplets into tiny pellets of hail falling amidst the sheets of rain. 

Just shy of 1 a.m., their suspect turns into the driveway, neon green Camaro in full, reflective glory beneath the streetlights. Tim and Lucy look at each other and move to get out of the car, but they hardly have the doors open far enough to let the rain in before Nyla tears down the driveway of the house across the street, Angela hot on her heels. With the car having come from the northbound side of the street, they’d had a better vantage point and been able to get a head start. 

It’s the sort of thing that would usually leave Tim grumbling most of the way back to the division; three damn hours he’d sat and stared at an empty driveway, and he didn’t even get a good foot pursuit out of it? 

But the rain is still pouring, and he doesn’t care to spend the next 45 minutes in soaking wet clothes, longer if Grey pushes the paperwork to be finished tonight. And the guy seems to be surrendering pretty easily, so there’s little need for backup. Instead, he and Lucy stay in the car, within arms’ reach of a radio, ready to call for another unit at a moment’s notice if one should become necessary. 

It doesn’t, though, and Tim figures the suspect probably has a high-dollar lawyer on standby, someone he knows can help him pay his way out of a possession with intent charge before the judge can even say “remand is set at.” Because Angela is giving him the all-clear, and he’s smirking as Lucy digs a bill out of her wallet and drops it in his cupholder. 

“Fine, take your money. I maintain that he shouldn’t have been out in weather like this driving a car like that.” 

“He shouldn’t have been working with the cartels either, but clearly his judgement isn’t the greatest.” Tim puts the car into gear and pulls back into the left lane, slowly making his way back toward Mid-Wilshire with the wipers still running at top speed. “Anyone who’d paint a car that color, then use it to run drugs, deserves whatever’s coming to him.” 

The drive back takes considerably longer than usual, between bad luck with red lights and the downpour making visibility bad and traction worse. Tim has just carefully cleared another intersection when Lucy turns her head to look at him instead of staring at the storm. 

“Think it’ll let up soon?” 

Tim scoffs as he turns a corner, but before he can answer, he bites out a curse. He’d accelerated just a second too soon and sent the car skidding across a plane of water over the asphalt. The fingers of one hand wrap together around the steering wheel as he wills himself to ride it out, not jerk the wheel and lose what little control he’s got left. Lucy gasps and grabs for the door handle as his other arm flies across the space between the seats, slamming against her chest and holding her back against the car seat. He presses his foot against the brake pedal, easing the wheel to the left and guiding the vehicle back under his direction as he pulls his arm away. 

His forearm feels cold all of a sudden, missing the contact as the air from the vent blows cold against his skin. 

“Doubt it,” he says, when he’s finally driving normally again, and some of the tension has left Lucy’s shoulders. “Morning news said it’s supposed to rain all night.” 

“Great.” He doesn’t look at her, keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the resigned frustration in her voice all the same. “This’ll be just _great_ in Miss Myrtle.” 

They’re stopped at another red light, so Tim chances a careful look in Lucy’s direction. She’s pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes wide as she watches the storm terrorizing the city. 

Tim knows her car, the old Datsun with the leaky roof and the alarming buzzing noise whenever she tries to use the air conditioner or heater. He’s only ridden in it a couple of times – when Lucy has picked him up from the dealership so he didn’t have to wait around on an oil change – but he hasn’t forgotten how ramshackle it felt, shaking on its axels as Lucy picked up speed on the highway. 

Truth be told, he’d be surprised if the hail hasn’t knocked the doors clean off of the frame before they even get back to the station. Nobody should be driving a car in that condition during a storm like this. Especially not if there’s a perfectly good option sitting just a seat away from her right now. 

“Let me give you a ride back to my place.” His brow furrows with the pressure of his concern. “We can ride this out there, maybe … have a little dessert?” He grins at her, looking back to the road in front of him when the light turns green and he pulls forward slowly. 

Lucy doesn’t respond right away, and Tim begins to wonder if he’s overstepped. He thinks back over their relationship – and their newfound sort-of _relat_ _ionship_ _-_ and doesn’t think he has, but he can’t be sure. He’d waited until she wasn’t a rookie anymore, until they were still riding together more shifts than not, as partners on an equal footing now. He’d bided his time through countless nights at the bar with the rest of their little group, carefully watched her reactions to everything he’d said as he tried to gauge her interest. 

Then one night, they were the last two left after everyone else had broken away and gone back to their own personal lives. Tim had seen the way Lucy kept looking between her empty glass and the door, like she didn’t want to leave but wasn’t sure if she should stay, and slipped away to the bar to buy her next round. 

They’d stayed for two more drinks apiece, sharing stories and laughing in their little corner booth. At the end of the night, he’d walked her to her car, jokingly offered her a field sobriety test before he’d let her open the door. 

He’d driven home feeling the lightest and happiest he’d felt in weeks, maybe longer. The look on her face as she waved at him in the parking lot had carried him through two shifts in a row riding with Nolan. 

And finally, two weeks ago, he’d stopped her as they walked out of a convenience store together, matching paper coffee cups in their hands. She’d looked up when he stopped walking, let him lead her over to stand beside the massive ice cooler out front. 

“Hey, you’re off-duty for the next 45 seconds, alright, Lucy?” He remembers how she’d looked up when he used her first name, the way she’d blinked at him as she nodded hesitantly. “This isn’t a work thing, there’s no pressure for you to say yes. But I’d like to take you out for dinner sometime.” 

She’d said yes, and spent the rest of the shift trying to pretend like she wasn’t stealing glances at him out the corner of her eye. Three nights later, they’d been sitting across from each other at a Mediterranean restaurant he remembered Lucy mentioning a handful of times as a rookie, sharing an appetizer sampler and trading bites from each other’s kebabs. 

He’d kissed her cheek when he dropped her off, and when he pulled back, she’d smiled and leaned back across the center of his truck to press her lips softly to his, whispering a “goodnight” against his mouth before she slid down to the pavement. 

Tim had waited for her to get up to her front door, texted her when he got home and asked when he could see her again. 

They’d tried a handful of dates, but don’t have the same days off anymore, and he’d caught some mandatory overtime the night he’d hoped to take her bowling. So it’s been that long, after that night, since he’s been able to see her outside of work. 

Until tonight, hopefully. 

But she still hasn’t said anything, and Tim can hear the gears grinding against one another in her brain until she finally opens her mouth to whisper. 

“... sure.” There’s something in her voice though, and it’s not the enthusiasm Tim had been hoping for. Lucy almost sounds reluctant, like she’s giving the answer she thinks he wants to hear. It’s a tone he’s heard before, but not since he was peppering her with questions about the Rook Book, asking her if she was sure, even when they both knew she’d given a correct answer. 

He doesn’t want to hear that tone now, doesn’t want to push her into anything she’s not completely comfortable with. 

“You don’t have to,” he assures her without turning his head away from the windshield. “Just figured it might be a better plan than driving your rust bucket 25 minutes home in the monsoon.” 

They both grimace as the sky lights up again, the lightning cracking into the horizon, too close for comfort. The thunder comes a second later, rumbling hard enough to rattle the car, and Tim knows he can’t let Lucy try to drive herself home. If she doesn’t want to stay at his house tonight, he’ll add the extra minutes to take her home and pick her up in the morning. 

“It’s just …” she takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself. “I don’t want you to think it’s _the Third Date.”_

He's not sure how she says it out loud with the capital letters, but he hears them anyway. 

“What?” 

Tim isn’t stupid; he knows what third dates are supposed to mean. But he also knows that he and Lucy haven’t taken the expected route at any point so far in their relationship, and he doesn’t have any expectations about taking her home tonight. 

Other than taking her home tonight, so she doesn’t wash away in a flood, maybe watching a movie or something. 

“You know … _third date._ I’m getting there, but …" She trails off, and Tim looks over at her from another red light, sees how she’s trying to hide the way she’s scratching at her rib cage. He’s not about to call her out on it, especially when he can tell that it’s probably a subconscious gesture, but he knows what lies beneath her fingers. 

And he remembers how she’d said Emmett started looking at her differently when he’d finally asked about what it meant. As soon as he knew what the numbers were, he started regarding her differently, tiptoeing around her, like he was going to step on a live landmine and blow everything up in their faces. That, ultimately, had been their undoing, as Lucy had explained to Tim in the bar that first night. _He_ _treated me like I was something … failed. A cop who couldn’t even protect herself_ _,_ _never mind_ _the rest of LA_ _._ _You’ve_ _never made me feel that way._

She was half drunk when she’d said it, but Tim saw the look in her eyes and knew she’d meant every word. 

“I want us to take our time.” She’s talking again, and it pulls him out of his reverie. “Not rush into … dessert.” 

“You can’t rush into it, Lucy.” Tim shakes his head and grins. “Cookies take at least 10 minutes to bake. Maybe even 12 or 14.” 

He’s pulling into the garage now, looking over at Lucy as he cuts the wheel, and the look on her face tells him that he made the right move. She’s looking down at her lap, but there’s a tiny smile across her cheeks, flushed just a little bit pink. 

She looks downright adorable like this, and Tim wonders for the hundredth time why it took him so many months to notice. 

He raises an eyebrow and she nods slightly as he kills the engine. 

“10 minutes? Meet you out front?” He unlatches his door, but doesn’t move to get out of the car until she nods again. 

“It’s a date.” 

* * *

Tim is leaning against the community affairs desk, making idle chatter with the overnight officer when Lucy steps out from the hallway with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. 

He doesn’t say anything as they leave the building side by side, doesn’t want to reveal anything to listening ears, but he does hold the door for her and slide the bag strap off of her arm as she walks by, taking the added weight easily on his own shoulder. 

When they get out to his truck, he opens her door, waits for her to get into the seat and closes it for her too. 

Neither of them say anything, letting the soft jazz music and steady pelting of the raindrops and hailstones fill the space around them. 

He’s content with the silence, happy just to have Lucy in the truck with him, sharing even a little bit of her world for a little while. If she wants to talk, he’ll gladly listen, but he’ll follow her lead. 

On this, and wherever she may go, he’ll follow her lead. 

Still, he’s surprised that she’s not saying anything, and beginning to wonder if she’s fallen asleep. It’s almost 2 a.m., and the quiet cacophony is exactly the sort of noise that could lull someone into slumber. Even if he knows she’s usually up at least this late after a regular shift, never mind when they’re picking up an afternoon shift tomorrow and aren’t due back to work until after lunch. 

He’s trying to decide if he should turn the radio down a little, give her a bit more quiet, when she shifts in the bucket seat and slips her hand out of her lap to rest on the center console. 

Tim bites the inside of his cheek gently, trying to ignore the way his heart swells at the simple gesture, the way she’s sleepy and shy, but still seeking contact. He looks over his shoulder for a lane change, then slides his hand into hers to intertwine their fingers and squeeze gently. Her fingers shift in his grasp as she lolls her head back against the headrest to stare at him, settling in for the rest of the ride home. 

It’s only a few more miles, and when he turns into the driveway, Tim pulls the truck up as close to the garage as he can without hitting the door or having to move storage boxes around. He pulls the key out of the ignition and shrugs at Lucy, who chuckles as she pushes her door open. 

Tim opens his at the same time, and they make a mad dash for the front door, not wanting to spend any more time standing in the downpour than they must. With shaky hands, Tim fumbles for the right key and opens the door, but they’re still drenched by the time he slams it shut behind them. 

He grimaces, but Lucy is laughing, mascara running down both cheeks as she squeezes her hair out over his welcome mat. Tim pulls the hem of his shirt up, trying to wipe the water from his face, but it’s a futile effort, because the shirt is just as soaked as his skin. 

But Lucy is laughing, so he’s smiling now too, finding a little bit of humor in the way she looks, all soggy and dripping water in his foyer. There’s no way he looks any better, just as waterlogged as she is, save for the mascara tracks. A split second later, they’re both laughing, at each other, at themselves and at the sheer absurdity of the situation. She’s leaning against the door, he’s trying not to lose his balance, and their sides are beginning to ache before the moment finally dies down. 

“Alright, you go get changed. I’ll start the oven. Shirts are in the second drawer, help yourself.” 

She grins at him, brilliant and full of exuberance, before walking away, following the direction he’d pointed to his bedroom. 

* * *

Lucy isn’t sure what she’d expected Tim’s room to look like, but she’s unsurprised to find that it’s furnished mostly in neutrals. Grey bedspread, white sheets, dark wooden furniture. The shirt drawer he’d offered her is easy to find, in the dresser sitting opposite the foot of the bed. 

She wants nothing more than to get the sopping wet clothes off, but her hair is still dripping enough that she’d just have to change again in a few minutes anyway. 

So she pokes her head into the ensuite bathroom, checking for … she’s not sure what, exactly, but it feels wrong to walk into his bathroom without looking first, even though she knows he’s in the living room. The room is empty, so she turns on the light and pulls a towel from the small shelf in the corner. 

It smells like Tim, she notices, like the interior of the shop when they’d ride together every day, like the way he smelled when he pulled her in for a full-body hug the day she graduated the academy: warm and spicy and clean and _Tim_. 

She rubs the towel over her hair, pulling it loose from its ponytail to wrap it up on top of her head in an attempt to absorb some of the water before she gets dressed. When she opens the drawer, she bends down carefully, to avoid dumping the entire soggy mess onto Tim’s clothes, and starts running her hands across some of the options. 

There are probably two dozen T-shirts folded neatly in rows, most of them with logos from various LA sports teams. Lucy is shivering, so she knows she wants something warm, probably from the other side of the drawer, where the shirts are folded thick enough to look like they’re long-sleeved. There are a couple thermals, standard-issue, a perfect match for the ones she puts under her own uniform on the rare chilly days in winter. They’re decently warm, but pretty thin, and she’s trying to remember which bra she wore today. The dark blue one, she thinks, and confirms with a peek down her shirt collar, so those aren’t an option. 

But behind those, at the back of the drawer, are a few more shirts folded into neat, even rectangles. Lucy reaches back to touch them, feels the soft, broken-in fabric under her fingertips and pulls the middle shirt from its place. 

It comes unfolded as she lifts it up, and she smiles to herself when she realizes which shirt it is. There are three buttons up at the collar, worn-in ribbed cuffs at the ends of both dark grey sleeves. 

She remembers Tim wearing this shirt at the bar, that first night they really hung out alone together. He’d bought her drinks until they decided to call it a night, then winked when he asked her to walk in a straight line across the parking lot, heel-to-toe. She’d taken two steps, but then she was laughing too hard to keep going. Instead, she’d proven her sobriety by pushing Tim out of the way and walking to her car. 

(Really, they’d both known she was good to drive, close to an hour after she’d finished her last drink, a Cosmopolitan that wasn’t half as strong as they usually are. If there’d have been a problem with it, she never would have put herself behind the wheel. And if Tim had thought there was a problem, every bone in Lucy’s body knows he’d have spoken up about it. It was just another Tim Test, albeit a lighthearted and goofy one.) 

He’d stopped her at the door, wiggled his finger in front of her face until she’d giggled again and asked how he ever got cleared to be a training officer with field skills like these. Then, on an impulse, she’d thrown her arms around his neck and pulled their bodies together. 

He’d frozen for just a moment, then wrapped his own arms around her waist and held on for just a second too long. When they’d finally stepped back, the first thing she’d missed was how soft the material of his shirt felt against her cheek. 

She’s thinking about it again now, as she tugs the towel out of her mostly-dry hair and pulls her sodden T-shirt over her head. 

Tim's shirt comes almost halfway down her thighs, and she has to bunch the sleeves up at her elbows to get her fingers through the cuffs. Once it’s on, though, it’s almost perfectly cozy, just the right amount of warmth to offset the chill in her bones. 

She looks down at herself, realizes that her calves are cold too, and takes a shot in the dark at the third drawer down being Tim’s pants. 

Sure enough, she find a pair of sweatpants, which she has to fold down at the waist to get the length even close to right. And by the time she’s adjusted the drawstring, the ends hang down past her knees. But she’s warm now, inside and out, so she hangs the towel back up in the bathroom and opens Tim’s bedroom door, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail as she goes. 

* * *

Tim turns around when he hears Lucy’s footsteps coming back into the kitchen. He holds a whisk in one hand, holding the saucepan by its handle as he turns carefully so he doesn’t splatter anything on his shirt, which is draped across the back of a kitchen chair. His jeans are mostly dried, from the heat the oven gave off when he opened the door while he arranged the frozen discs of cookie dough on the baking sheet. He’d left the shirt on until it turned cold and clammy against his skin, then peeled it over his head and dropped squares of baking chocolate into the pan of milk he was heating on the stove. 

The chocolate is mostly melted now, but he’s still waiting for the blend to turn warm and creamy, ready for a sprinkle of cinnamon and a bit of vanilla extract. He keeps stirring as he turns, but freezes when he sees her playing with the sleeves of his favorite Henley. 

He watches her long enough that her shoulders draw in, pushing up toward her ears, and when she finally says something, it’s enough to bring him back to the present, where he starts stirring again, before the milk can scald. 

“What?” He thinks she’s trying to come off as defensive, but mostly she just sounds shy, like he’s scrutinizing her too closely. “You said to pick one out, and I wanted long sleeves since it’s chilly and-” 

He cuts her off, but doesn’t stop looking. 

“Nothing. Pick whichever shirt you want.” Tim adds the next part like an afterthought, even though it’s been the only thing echoing in his mind since he turned around. “You look good in my clothes.” 

If he’d thought Lucy was blushing earlier, the pinkish tinge taking over her face now proves him wrong. She smiles, a tiny, reflexive expression, and watches Tim while he watches her. There’s a long moment of gentle silence, just the two of them drinking in the view of one another, until the timer on the oven beeps. Its noise is sudden enough that Lucy jumps, which makes Tim grin at her. 

“Cookies should be done in a couple minutes. And I’m making cocoa.” He doesn’t mean to, but he looks down as he says it, hoping he’s not coming on too strong. After all, this isn’t their third date or anything. “Go pick a movie?” When Lucy turns toward the couch, he calls after her. “Nothing too sappy! I want at least one good action scene!” 

He hears the TV turn on, muffled dialogue floating into the room faintly enough that he has a hard time making out the words while he puts the finishing touches on the cocoa. Once the concoction in the pan is perfect, he divides it between two mugs, dark, thick liquid right to the brim. From there, it’s another sprinkle of cinnamon and a couple of mini marshmallows, and he’s carrying them carefully into the living room, plate of cookies balanced on one arm. 

Lucy takes his breath away again, when he sees how she’s sitting, right in the middle of his couch, with her legs drawn up, one folded around the other. She’s draped the blanket from the back of the sofa across her lap, chin resting on one knee. When she sees him, her face lights up and she reaches out for one of the mugs. 

Tim passes it to her, watches the way she sighs with her first sip, as he settles down next to her. He's sure to leave a little bit of space, but they’re close enough that he can feel the heat from her body, tug one corner of the blanket over to cover part of his own lap. 

“What’re we watching?” 

He means to listen to her response, really he does. But before she answers, Lucy leans over to settle herself against his chest. She slides a cookie off of the plate on his leg, and he can feel her head shifting against his bare skin as she speaks, but he’s too focused on the physical sensations to hear her words. 

She’d leaned over without a second thought, made herself completely comfortable in Tim’s space, in his _clothes,_ and didn’t expect that to stop him dead in his tracks? 

He tries to take a deep breath, but the magnolia scent of her shampoo fills his nose, and he’s even further gone than he was 20 seconds earlier. She’s holding her mug on his knee, leaving her forearm plastered all the way up his thigh. 

When she moves the mug away to take a drink, Tim isn’t sure which spot is left colder: where the hot mug had been, or the touch of her arm. 

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and her free hand comes up to hold the ends of his fingers, idly playing with them as the movie rolls across the screen. Tim is vaguely aware of a car chase, bright orange flashes of gunfire, but he can’t be bothered to pay attention to the movie. Not when Lucy’s fingers have stilled in his, her empty mug abandoned on the floor and her breathing steady and shallow. 

Whatever movie they’re “watching,” he can start it over another day. But he’s got Lucy here with him, right now, and he never wants this feeling to fade. 

He’s still enraptured by Lucy an hour later, doesn’t even notice the end credits rolling on the TV. But the glow of the screen turns almost painfully bright as some sitcom he’s never heard of starts playing next, all bright colors and overly cheerful theme music. Tim squints against the light as he fumbles for the remote, trying not to jostle Lucy too much along the way. 

Finally, he’s able to find it and press the ‘power’ button, plunging the room into darkness. Lucy stirs when he settles back down, so he takes his free hand and runs it through her hair. 

“Shhh, I’m not watching sitcom drivel at three a.m., Boot.” He murmurs it with affection, and Lucy responds with some half-asleep mumbling. Tim can’t make out the words she’s trying to say, but smiles anyway and shakes her shoulder gently. “Alright, that’s enough. C’mon, bedtime.” 

She sits up, blinking the sleep from her eyes, and stares at the hand Tim offers her when he stands. 

“’S good. I’ll take th’ couch.” Lucy pulls the blanket further over herself, drawing her hands up to her chin and holding onto the edges so the blanket covers her completely. 

“You’re sure? Plenty of room in the bed.” 

“’M fine. ‘S not the Third Date.” She’s drifting off again already, and Tim knows better than to push the issue when Lucy has made up her mind on something. So he picks up the dishes, rinses them out in the sink and stops to look at her again on his way to bed. 

The way she’s laying, he’s worried that she’ll fall off the couch if she wakes up too fast. He reaches out gently to reposition her, straighten her legs out and situate the blanket more to cover her more completely. Of their own volition, his fingers tuck the throw around her arms, brushing over her shoulders. 

Right before he turns away, ready to settle in for bed himself, he’s overcome with such fondness for Lucy that he can’t restrain himself any longer. So he bends down and presses his lips to her forehead. 

He could be mistaken, memory fogged by his own exhaustion, but he’s pretty sure she smiles in her sleep as he stands up. 

Tim makes his way to his own room, and barely has his jeans into the hamper before he’s dropping face first onto his pillow, pulling the sheets up as he rolls over and passes out. 

* * *

Lucy wakes up alone on Tim’s couch. She’s not sure how long she slept, only that it’s still pitch dark outside, and that she knows Tim was here when she fell asleep. 

She’s not sure what woke her up either, until it happens again. 

All of a sudden, the entire room is illuminated, bright white light casting unfamiliar shadows across furniture Lucy isn’t used to seeing. The rain is still pouring outside, light from a streetlight glaring off of the window and the blank television screen. She turns over to face the back of the sofa, hoping the darkness will help lull her back to sleep, but then thunder claps again, and it sounds so, so close, like the storm might as well be knocking on the front door. 

Tim’s front window is _huge_ , with the curtains tied back, and it’s suddenly the only thing she can think of. Sure, it opens the space up nicely, and there’s no way she can feel trapped with the light shining in, but _what if it breaks_ _?_ What if it shatters and she’s asleep and all of the glass shards fall onto her? 

So she rolls over again, hoping that maybe she’d be able to see the tree branch coming through the glass and take cover before she gets cut to pieces. 

But does she really want to see it coming? No, she decides, she’d rather not. 

Still, she can’t get settled again on the couch, in Tim’s too-big, too-bright, too- _unfamiliar_ living room. She tosses and turns for a little while longer – she's still not sure how long, but it feels like a few hours, even if it was probably only 20 minutes or so – before she sighs and sits up. 

There’s no way she gets any more sleep out here tonight. 

But there’s a doorway, not 15 feet away, cracked open just a hair. It’s too dark for her to see into the room, but she knows what’s in there. 

She knows who’s in there. 

And she can’t think of anyone she’d rather be with, anyone else who can calm her down, soothe the irrational thoughts away without even trying. 

Lucy stands, wrapping the throw blanket around her shoulders, and tiptoes across the living room, nudging the bedroom door open with one foot. 

The light pollution from his window gives off just enough illumination for her to pick out the silhouette of his form, tucked underneath the covers. She doesn’t want to disturb him, knows there’s no way to get all the way into his bed without waking him up. 

She’s still wearing his clothes, though, warm and comforting against her skin, and wrapped in the blanket from his sofa. Carefully, she crosses the room and sits on the edge of the mattress. It dips under her weight as she leans back and tries to lay down, and Tim stirs. 

“Lucy?” His voice is hoarse, thick and groggy with sleep, and Lucy winces even as her heart leaps into her throat at getting to see this side of Tim. 

“Shh, go back to sleep,” she whispers, rolling onto her side to face him. 

“What’re you doing?” The movement is clumsy, but Tim turns over too, jerking his limbs until they cooperate and he’s looking at Lucy through the darkness. 

“I, uh, I couldn’t sleep out there. With … with the storm.” She’s suddenly shy, embarrassed that she couldn’t sleep through a bit of rain like any other living adult. “So I figured I’d take you up on the invitation from earlier.” 

Lucy bites the inside of her cheek, hoping that she’s not pushing too far, that she’s not overstepping what Tim had tried to offer her. 

“On top of the covers?” He doesn’t sound judgmental, just sleepy and confused. “You know there’s room for two down here, and blankets are way warmer when you’re _underneath_ them.” 

He shifts over a little bit, pushes the covers away from himself enough that she can shuffle underneath them. His movements are jerky, uncoordinated in a way Lucy’s not used to seeing out of Tim, but it’s endearing how he’s half-asleep and still trying to take care of her. 

She’s just finished pulling the blankets back up, leaving a carefully measured distance between herself and Tim, when another lightning bolt flashes and thunder rattles the windows again. 

Lucy jumps, screwing her eyes shut, only relaxing again when the noise has settled out. 

“Sorry,” she whispers into the darkness, trying not to move any more than she must. 

“Don’t be.” _Damn, she’d thought he was asleep again_. Tim scoots across the mattress, pressing their arms together and hooking one foot over Lucy’s calf. “I’m right here.” 

She takes a deep breath and rolls to her side, tucking herself beneath his arm and pillowing her head on his bare chest. As soon he’s holding her again, Lucy feels the tension bleed out of her shoulders. She’s safe here, protected and warm in Tim’s arms. 

It’s a while longer before she falls asleep again, but she’s completely content to lay here and rest, listen to the storm beating against the glass and think about how readily she trusts Tim. It goes deeper than him being her TO, more than she trusts most of her friends. 

It’s the culmination of all of those things, and something more. Not love, not yet. But someday soon, she’s pretty sure. She can feel it in every moment they spend together, how she knows he’s got her back, _and_ her heart. 

Finally, as the first rays of sunlight start breaking through the window, she falls asleep again, with one last thought floating through her brain as her eyes slip closed. 

_This is maybe the best Third Date she’s ever had._

**Author's Note:**

> Love you all! Let me know what you think! <3


End file.
